The Contact
by lukebn
Summary: To clear his name of Hisao's murder, Kenji consults with a mysterious contact.
1. The Contact

The Contact

The first night, my bed of bark and leaves was painful. Now I can hardly imagine sleeping any other way. I am harder. Stronger. Manlier.

I can hear one of their scouts approaching. I'm not afraid. My haven is camouflaged well. Three days now they've roamed the woods, calling my name. They thought they could frame me up and lock me away, and they want me to slink back to Yamaku to let them do it? I'm glad they framed me. They're starting to think of me as a threat.

The scout passes within two meters of my hiding place. That's right. Just keep walking. He stops at a nearby tree, and sits down beneath it. Damn. That's where I'm meeting my contact. Got to take care of this before he gets here.

I flow out from under my shelter of twigs. The scout is thirty steps away. I have the grace of a tiger. Twenty steps away. I am as silent as dust settling in an old house. Ten steps away. Nobody ever hears me coming until it is too late. The scout turns to look at me. Not because he heard me coming. He was probably going to turn anyway, and it just happened to be right then.

"Butterscotch," says the scout. No, not their scout. My contact.

I give the countersign. "Chupacabra." We both nod. I don't know his name, and I don't ask. Safer that way.

Down to business. "You've probably heard all kinds of lies about me," I say, "but I had nothing to do with Hisao's death. It's a setup! He was killed by women!"

"I agree," says the contact.

I am surprised. I do not surprise easily. The last time I was surprised, the telephone pole that surprised me paid dearly for it. All guys secretly agree with me, but none of them say so out loud for fear of reprisals. The Contact— I mentally promote the description to a proper noun— must be highly placed in the resistance to speak so freely.

"Put your fingers in my mouth," says the Contact. Some sort of resistance initiation ritual, undoubtedly. I stick out my hand and the Contact sucks on it for a few seconds. It feels pretty good.

The Contact nods and strokes his beard, probably. (Instead of merely seeing body language like most people, I infer body language through deductive reasoning. Some people ask me if it really works. To them I say: I'm still alive, aren't I?) "I was hanging around near the mural where the body fell," the Contact explains. "There were flecks of paint on Hisao's back. I ate them. Ethyl acetate based paint, color on the creamy side of Ostrich Eggshell. Hisao was pushed by someone with a fresh coat of nail polish. Your fingers don't taste like nail polish remover. I think you're innocent."

Damn. I'm in the presence of a pro. I rush back to my burrow to grab the case notes I've been scratching into sheets of bark with my sharpened fingernail. I sit down across from the contact and push my notes over to him. He picks them up with his feet and examines them. _Damn!_ This way he doesn't leave fingerprints! I should practice with toe-socks. Are closed-toe shoes part of the conspiracy? How far back does this thing go? Layers upon layers.

"I've compiled everything I know about the people Hisao's been spending time with. Satou, Ibarazaki, that double-headed student council beast… there's only one I can't find anything on. Tezuka? Don't even know what she looks like. You think this Rin Tezuka could have pushed Hisao?"

"I don't even have arms," says the Contact.

"Yes, the government seems awfully eager to keep guns out of the hands of citizens, and I think we all know who's behind that! But let's stay on topic. I'll put Tezuka down as 'probably shady.' What about Hakamichi and Mikado? I overheard Hisao shouting at them the night before the murder."

The Contact strokes his beard badassfully, probably. "People talk. People want to believe anything about Shizune. People say crime of passion. Each man kills the thing he loves, and all that. I hope that's not true. I haven't killed any turtles yet, but I might step on one." He spends the next 30 seconds examining the area for turtles, then stops and stares at me. "You should tell me what you were doing on the roof that night."

"I wasn't even there! How did you know I was there?"

"A girl saw you two going up to the roof together. Hanako Ikezawa."

Satou's friend. No… Satou's conspirator. "What was she doing inside on the night of the festival, huh? Very fishy. We should drag her out here and make her talk."

The Contact shakes his head. "Librarian says she arrived in the library shortly before the festival started. She rushed out not long before the murder. Said she 'had to go do something.' Only path to the roof goes past the library, so she didn't double back. And people say they saw her at your class's booth that night." Yuuko. Beautiful, graceful, deadly Yuuko. Your word means less than nothing to me now. I point out that the librarian's probably in on it, but the Contact just shrugs. "Walk me through your evening." I explain our manly picnic to him. There isn't much to tell— any assassin subtle enough to elude my senses is unlikely to have left much evidence behind. The contact perks up when he hears about the whiskey. "Less than half a bottle of whiskey and you blacked out in the forest? Where did you get it?"

"My mother mailed it to me. Wait, do you think _she could have_—"

"You didn't get it from your mother. You got it from the mail. Shizune controls the mail." Damn. It's so obvious now. Nothing happens in this school without Shizune's go-ahead.

But the Contact's not done yet. He leaps to his feet, kicks off his flipflops, and starts pacing in circles around the tree. Looks painful, but his muscular jaw doesn't even twitch, probably. "Knock Ibarazaki off the suspects list. She was too busy washing blood out of her clothes to murder anyone. My fault, I'm afraid." That's… that's pretty extreme. I don't know if even I'm willing to go that far. I'll likely have to find out before the end of this war.

"Superficially, you're the one being framed. But the fresh nail polish. It's too sloppy. Who stops to paint their nails in the middle of a festival? The killer wanted people to know it was a murder, but also to realize it wasn't you." He stops pacing to stroke his beard badassfully, probably. The way he does that reminds me of Hisao's majestic beard. No time to get sentimental. "They say it isn't the fall that kills you, it's the sudden stop. Maybe they've got it backwards. Maybe it's the fall that kills you, it's the whiskey that kills you, it's the stairs you climb to the roof that kill you, it's getting out of your bed that morning that kills you." He resumes pacing, shuffling through my files.

"Lilly Satou was in and out of your class's booth that evening, but they say she stopped by during the fireworks, just as the murder was taking place. Miki Miura saw Hanako around the booth at the same time. That leaves Shizune and Misha, who were fighting with Hisao for some reason… either could have drugged the whiskey. Maybe they hoped it would react badly with his heart, and improvised when they saw their chance slipping away?"

"So the question is Misha, Shizune, or both?"

"The question is Misha, Shizune, or someone who hates Misha and Shizune."

I hold an arm out to stop the Contact. I accidentally punch him in the ribs. He glares at me and rubs his side with his foot. Weird, but also cool? "Yeah, man," I tell him, "Satou totally hates Hakamichi."

The Contact freezes in place. Minutes pass. Is he still blinking? I look away for a second and when I look back I can barely tell him from the tree. Finally, he speaks.

"Lilly Satou murdered Hisao Nakai."

"I thought you said my class could vouch for her? Most of the guys in that class are cowardly beard-lackers, but there are a few I'm sure wouldn't lie for Satou."

The Contact finally unfreezes and resumes blinking. He slumps back against the tree in the same position I found him. "Satou wanted to frame Shizune Hakamichi. I don't know why. I don't know why most people do the things they do."

I nod sagely. "Better men than I have died trying to understand the minds of women."

"She's been waiting for the opportunity for months. Hisao had nothing to do with anything. Just unlucky. The type of person Shizune is, Satou knew she'd pick a fight with someone eventually." The Contact picks up his flipflops with his toes, kicks them into the air, and catches them on his feet.

"When word of the fight reached her, she was ready to move. She knew you were his friend. She's probably the one who sent you the whiskey in the first place. Check the postmark. Bet it's faked."

"The chaos of the festival was the perfect distraction, but it made Hisao hard to keep track of. That's where Hanako comes in. She's been tracking Hisao ever since he befriended Shizune— notice how much time she spends in the library? But Hanako doesn't have what it takes to kill. When she spotted you two heading to the roof, she bolted out of there to find Lilly. Lilly followed you up to the roof. It may have been pitch black up there, but that doesn't matter if you're blind. You and Hisao were drunk, drugged, and helpless. She wiped a bit of nail polish on her hand, pushed Hisao off the roof, and slipped out using the fireworks to hide her presence."

"But the booth—"

"She wasn't there."

"Your sources—"

"Sighted sources like Miki report Hanako at the booth during the fireworks. Blind sources like your class report Lilly there. Neither reports both. Hanako has spent enough time around Lilly to imitate her voice, especially with noisy fireworks interfering. She didn't have to stick around, just make an appearance and disappear. Even if Lilly had an obvious motive, that gives her an alibi. Suspicion falls to the person everyone loves to hate, the one who's had a public falling out with the victim: Lilly's enemy Shizune."

Power struggles within the conspiracy. They are weak and I am strong. Best news in months. I want to give my Contact a manly kiss. I offer a handshake. He just stares at me. Not ready to take the next step in our relationship, I guess. No big deal. "You're gonna need help to bring this conspiracy down. Shizune's probably already pinning it on me… she's ruthless and Satou's subtle as hell. You're gonna need to be, like, both of them combined."

The Contact thinks about this. "You're saying I should speak softly and carry a big stick?"

I start breaking down my shelter and pulling more of my note-bark out of hiding. It's time to move on from here. "I guess. If you don't mind my asking… what's Hisao to you?"

The Contact takes a while to answer that. "Not much. Didn't know him well. But… there are different ways to seek truth. Sometimes art. Sometimes justice." He shoots me a piercingly handsome stare, probably. "Sometimes vigilante justice."

I stick out my hand. "Partners?"

He headbutts it. "Partners."


	2. Mittens

"Missing person" is terribly subjective sometimes, because when _they_ know where they are, and _I_ know where they are, then it's really just a question of who misses them. Are the police saying they miss Kenji, that they _verb_ feel a sense of loss or sadness at his absence? I doubt their sincerity. I slip off my sandal and uncap a marker with my teeth and cross out "Missing" on the poster. _Hiding person. _Better word. Truer.

People here walk different now. They hunch and scurry and glance about and see dried blood in every smear on the floor. Death has touched this place, and it excites them. It excites me. I know it is bad but it is true. It is not bad like a bad person. It is bad like a bad dog. The dog cannot help but be bad. It is a dog.

They don't say this. They say what happened to Hisao is sad. They say they miss him. Hisao is the true missing person. I know where Kenji is. But Hisao is nowhere to be found. I hope nobody asks me if I miss Hisao. I knew him—briefly—so the answer is yes. But the real answer is no. He did not leave a hole in my life. I will have to lie, because this is one of those lies where people will turn on you if you stop telling it.

"I can't believe he's _gone!_" Too loud. It makes me wince. I turn to find the two people who might miss Hisao genuinely, in the sense of feeling a sense of loss or sadness at his absence. I asked the loud one here. I asked her to leave the quiet one behind. I might as well have asked a tail to leave its dog behind. Bad tail.

"Hi," I say, but I barely have the first letter out before Misha has her arms around me and is dribbling tears onto my shoulder. I push her away with a gentle headbutt.

Misha is red and wet and blotchy. Shizune is pale and brittle, a half-step behind her companion. Together they look like meat hanging from a bone. I open the door to the art room and ask them to join me.

I didn't want Shizune here. But I anticipated the possibility. _Shizune leaves through the door, _I remind myself. _Misha leaves through the window._ I kick Emi's backpack over to Shizune and Misha. "Welcome to grief counseling," I say.

Misha scans the room in confusion. "Are we early or something?" Even once she's looked everywhere, she starts over and scans the room again. Shizune glares like I'm forcing her to chew gravel.

"Everyone else was too sad, so they stayed home. Misha, please open up that backpack." She unzips the backpack. Inside are a blindfold and a pair of mittens. "Put them on."

Misha's eyes dart back and forth between me and Shizune. "But then I won't be able to…"

"It's a therapy exercise. It'll help you focus your emotions," I say, meeting Shizune's eyes. She rests a hand on Misha's knee, nods, and helps her tie the blindfold, barely breaking eye contact with me all the while. Her face crystallizes into a grin. She thinks I'm challenging her to a game. I wonder if flies think they're playing a game with the flyswatter.

I wriggle my way on top of a stack of chairs at the front of the room and clutch a dry erase marker between my toes. The tape recorder in my pocket is already rolling. "Please describe Hisao Nakai, as you remember him," I say aloud. On the whiteboard, I write _I don't speak sign language. Grab a pen and paper._

Remembering Hisao upsets Misha enough that Shizune actually manages to respond first. _I can't hear what you're saying to Misha, and she can't sign wearing mittens. Don't you know it's rude to talk about someone behind her back?_

"Hisao was… really sweet, and a little stubborn, but a lot of fun…" _Did you kill Hisao?_ I write. "…always thinking about something…" Shizune hands me another note. _I didn't think you'd be interested in tawdry gossip. _"…sometimes he'd go really quiet and still for a while if he was making a hard decision…"

I wipe the board clean with my face. _I love tawdry gossip, _I write. _It's so often true._ _What do you think happened to Hisao? _"…and his adorable sweater vest! He was so handsome! Before… before…" Misha bursts into sobs. Shizune hands her a tissue with one hand—the tissue packet is almost empty—and hands me a note with the other. _Tawdry answer? Kenji Setou pushed him. Boring truth? Probably lost his balance. Drunk people are known for that. You've got marker on your face._

I wipe my face on my shoulder."What were you and Hisao fighting about before he died?" I say. _What were you and Hisao fighting about before he died?_ I write.

Misha and Shizune flinch and then glance at each other in unison. Misha fiddles with her blindfold for a moment, but leaves it on. _It was nothing. I barely remember. _"I… I don't want to… it was totally stupid and embarrassing!"

The door slams open. Misha squeals and bounces out of her seat. Emi barges in, all toothy grins and goose-stepping prosthetics. "Tolja I'd be quick!" she says, slapping a small bottle into my hand. Nail polish. I unscrew the bottle and start painting my toenails.

Emi gives Shizune and Misha a theatrical wink, pulls out a key, and locks the door from the outside. She presses her face to the window, mouths "Sorry!" and bounces out of view.

_Please stay seated, _I write. "Please stand up," I say. _In ten minutes, you are going to be arrested and taken for questioning_. _This will keep you safe and make the murderer relax their guard._ "Shizune is in trouble. A friend of mine is going to take her somewhere safe." I can barely remember which is the truth. They both have to be, for the moment. Shizune leaves through the door, I remind myself. Misha leaves through the window.

Misha gets halfway through a squeal before running out of air. Shizune is back to the chewing-gravel face. I scratch my belly with my toes. A bit of nail-polish smears off onto my tie. Ostrich eggshell, slightly on the creamy side. _We need to be quick, _I write. "We need to be quick," I say. _Why does Lily Satou hate you? _"Take off your mittens and reach out your hands. Leave the blindfold on."

"Is this still part of the grief counseling?" Misha whimpers. I shrug. Maybe it is, in a way. _I promised Satou I wouldn't talk about this, _Shizune writes, _but if she's involved with this— SHE IS, _I quickly scrawl. Misha sticks out her hands. Before she can start signing, I reach out both my feet and intertwine my toes with her fingers. Every nail is the same color, like a tiny carton of creamy ostrich eggs.

Emi's phone buzzes in my pocket. We're out of time. On cue, a window in the back of the room flies open. The smell of sweat and dirt floods the room as Kenji sticks his head through the window. "He-LLOOOOO?"

I hop off my chair and start nudging Misha towards the window with my head. Someone's knocking on the door. Misha whimpers. "We're getting you and Shizune out of here," I tell her, because that is the only way she will leave. "Keep the blindfold on." Kenji helps her up onto a chair and through the window. The knocking grows more insistent.

Something hits me from behind. The room upends itself. My arms reach out for the rapidly approaching ground, unable to catch me but compelled by animal instinct. I arrive face-first. Everything is bright. I want to amputate my head to make the buzzing stop. It stops on its own, and then the pain sets in.

"Uh, sir?" says Kenji. "Is Shizune supposed to be coming too?" I lift my head from the linoleum. Shizune is climbing on the chair, halfway out the window. The banging at the door is different now. They still want to come in, but they are no longer waiting for permission.

I lash out with my foot, kicking out the legs of the chair Shizune is standing on. She stumbles backwards and crashes onto the floor, groaning in a garbled voice that never learned from imitation. Misha is yelling for Shizune, and Kenji is assuring her that Shizune is right behind them, and I am taking Shizune's shoes off, and the door's hinges snap, and the police burst into the room.

"She's here," one says, and they all nod to themselves, because yup, she's here. I look up at them, and I pull my eyes wide, and I open my mouth slightly. I need my face to lie for me. I need Shizune to understand. I waggle my toes at her and kick my feet in circles and zig-zags. Shizune scowls.

One of the police officers steps forward. A translator. He signs to Shizune. She signs back. He turns to the others. "Both deaf. She's learning foot sign language. I didn't even know that was a thing." I nod to Shizune. Good.

The officers complain amongst themselves. They're annoyed they had to break down a door because two deaf girls couldn't hear them knock. They're annoyed the school was missing the key for this room. They're annoyed they have to expand their murder investigation beyond the paranoid eccentric who obviously did it. But things are back on track now. No need to look any deeper. No need to, say, read the whiteboard.

They don't bother cuffing Shizune. Funny. I thought they would, if only for the ritual of it. Two of them have hands on her shoulders, and they guide her out of the room. She doesn't meet my eyes, but I've already noticed the paper she left balled up on the floor. _Misha caught Lily embezzling money from Student Government. Agreed not to tell if she resigned._

All the school flows out front to watch the police take Shizune away. Teachers halfheartedly shoo people away from the gate, then glance over their shoulders to see for themselves. They taste blood in the water again. They are growing to enjoy the flavor. With nobody to see me leave, I slip back into the forest.

I arrive at a wall of eroded dirt, in what was once a riverbed. Trees and thorny bushes curve around this secret place like they are worshiping it. The thorns charge their toll in blood to any who wish to enter. Searchers have come within feet of Kenji's hiding place, but never found it. Why search behind the thorns, when there's a whole forest of gentle hills and easy trails to check first? I can hear soft crying from within. I climb through the thorns. It hurts.

Misha has her arms around Kenji. Her face is half-melted from grief. She lifts her face to me and smiles. "You're so clever." And for a moment I think she is hugging Kenji, and praising me, but people have a way of making words do bad things for them. Bite marks dribble blood down Misha's arm. It is wrapped close around Kenji's throat. Her other arm ends in a hand (this may seem obvious, but you will understand if I do not take it for granted) and that hand holds a revolver.

"Shizune was never meant to come, was she." I shake my head. I have lied enough for one day. Misha inhales sharply and makes a noise that could be a laugh or a sob. She turns the gun in her right hand from Kenji's head to mine. Kenji bites Misha's arm again and tries to squirm free, but every movement just tightens her arm around his windpipe.

"Everyone's always so fucking clever. Waha. But Shizune always said, every extra step in a plan is an extra chance to fail. So I kept my plan real simple. Get a gun, and improvise! Wahaha!"

I sit down. "What is step three, Misha?"

"You took Shizune away from me." Misha cocks her gun. To intimidate me, hopefully. It works. "Time to help me get her back."


End file.
